If The Seas Catch Fire(100)

He gulped. Hopefully, they’d give the man a chance to grieve his father and recover from his wounds first. Felice didn’t need to know the truth. Not today.

As Dom approached Felice’s bedroom, Dr. Rojas stepped out and closed the door behind him.

“How’s he doing?” Dom asked.

“He’ll be all right.” Dr. Rojas glanced over his shoulder, then scanned the hallway. He gestured for Dom to come closer. “You need to be careful right now, Dom.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dom muttered.

“How about the fact that there’s already a contract with your name on it.”

Dom stared at him, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “What are you talking about? How do you know?”

“Because I heard—” Rojas’s eyes flicked past Dom. Louder, he said, “The stitches will come out in a few days, and then he should make a full recovery as long as the wound is kept clean and doesn’t get infected.”

Two of Felice’s men walked past them, pausing to give Dom a respectful nod before continuing into the room where Felice recovered.

When they were gone, Rojas led Dom a ways down the hall. “Listen, I know Felice. I’ve been treating him long enough to know how he works. What he’s like when he’s upset. And he just lost his father, his brother, and Biaggio, so…”

“So he’s bound to be upset.” Hopefully someone’s locked up anything fragile or valuable.

Rojas chewed his lip. “Today, though… he was weird.”

“How so?”

The doc glanced around again, and whispered, “I thought at first that he was just numb over what happened to his father. He was quiet but didn’t seem all that upset.”

That was unusual for Felice—the slightest shift in his emotional status quo made him violent.

Rojas went on, “But then one of your uncle’s associates came in. And he told Felice that you’ll be inheriting the family, not him.”

“Oh shit.”

Rojas grimaced. “He hit the roof, Dom. Barely a twitch over his father, but when he found out you were the new boss, he flipped out so bad I had to re-stitch three of his sutures.” Even quieter now, he added, “After he calmed down, he told an associate to get in touch with another associate in Atlanta.”

“Atlanta? What?”

“Georgia, Dom.”

Dom’s stomach fell into his feet. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Rojas put up his hands. “I could be wrong. And I hope to God I am. But if I were you, I’d be watching my back right now.

“Yeah. I was… I was planning on it.” Watching his back was one thing. Having the Georgian on his tail was another matter entirely.

“I’m sorry.” Rojas put a hand on his shoulder. “If you need anything, call me.”

“I can’t ask you to help with this. It’s family.”

“I know. But if there’s anyone in this family who’s worth helping…”

Their eyes met.

“Thanks,” Dom whispered.

Rojas squeezed his shoulder, and then let him go. “I should get out of here.”

“Yeah. I should, uh…” He gestured at Felice’s door. “See how he’s doing.”

The doc’s lips pulled tight. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Rojas left, probably getting the hell away from this place as fast as humanly possible. Lucky bastard.

Dom regarded Felice’s door warily. He should’ve gone in there. Shown his face. And he would.

But first, he needed a moment to himself, so he wandered the hallways of Felice’s enormous house, hands in his pockets and eyes down.

He’d expected a hit. He’d known it was coming. But so soon? And from Felice? Jesus. Corrado’s body wasn’t even cool yet, and Felice was already arranging a hit on Dom. And, assuming Dr. Rojas had understood the coded talk correctly, that hit was contracted to none other than the Georgian.

The back of his neck prickled. The Georgian was a relentless hunter and a brutal killer. Legend had it, he aspired to be the west coast’s Richard Kuklinski—the prolific hitman all the New York City families had come to in the 70s and 80s to for their most valuable hits that needed to be taken out in the most brutal fashion. Dom didn’t know what was true and what was myth, but he knew they didn’t call in the Georgian unless they meant business.

He could go in there right now and shoot Felice, but Felice was surrounded by his crew and security. There were too many people here. All it would take was one of them who believed Felice should’ve inherited his father’s place, and they’d shoot him for killing Felice.

Any action he took, he couldn’t do it here. Not now. Had to stay calm even when he was shaken and betrayed. Put on the stoic face. Image, image, image.

And really, what action could he take? The fact was, there was no escaping it now. Dom’s number was up. He knew how this game was played, and certain things were inevitable. The only variables were how they killed him and when. This was one of those moments like when the doctor says to go home and get your affairs in order. Especially because it was the doctor himself who’d delivered the news.

He could either stand and fight…

Or he could quietly take his fate with dignity. It’s what Luciano had done. It was what Papa had done. He’d known when they were coming for him. Dom never forgot that day. Papa had come home early, and he’d disappeared with Mama for a little while. When they’d returned, there was saltimbocca alla Romana and his favorite wine. It had almost seemed like the family was celebrating, except the somber air between his parents had told him that something was terribly wrong. So wrong that, to this day, he couldn’t eat saltimbocca.